Paint It Black
by Kylelover101
Summary: When Ponyboy dies in the same accident at their parents, Soda is left to tend to Ponyboy's room.


**This is a fan-fic for a little psychology adrenaline. It's not a popular idea, so let's see what it does. Remember, I don't own The Outsiders, nor do I own: Paint It Black By: The Rolling Stones.  
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**Enjoy and as always, Stay Gold. **

**-Kylelover101**

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The walls in the room were starting to smell. After so long, he kept the door shut and ignored it if he were to come into contact with it. The red-wood door that if the knob were turned, it would open to a room that Sodapop Curtis dreaded.

The room looked fitting for a growing boy who loved to read. The shelves were filled with books, children's books filled with childish humor, adventures and magic. There were some adult books that explained the true meanings of life, the sadness and joys of living, the cruelties of a man and the love of a woman. They were a far stretch from Sodapop's vocabulary and it made him feel stupid to even try to read the titles of some.

Why Darry made him do this, he'd never know. He went to the window, at first he had a hard time opening it but after some struggle, managed to open it all the way, allowing a breeze to enter the room, ridding of the dusty smell and the dampness.

That still didn't make matters better for Sodapop as he traced the twin-bed post. It too, like nearly everything in the room, covered in dust. He hated dust. It was a weird thing for someone to hate, but Sodapop hated dust. Dust meant he had to use a dust cloth to wipe the dust off of materials he'd rather not look at, such as happy photographs laying on a dresser among other things, like half a drawing, or a school textbook that must have been worth a fortune in fines by now.

Since Darry had to work, since today was Soda's day off, he was to pack everything into boxes to store up into the attic. Soda would have taken any chore above this one, he didn't care if it were polishing the toilet with his toothbrush! He had to get out of here.

He lost it when he saw the picture taken just a month ago of himself linking arms with HIM.

Weak legs carried him to the front porch so he could breathe. Soda normally never smoked, but he was constantly seen with one hanging from his lips. Smoking calmed him down, it kept him from going insane these past four weeks, although. . . he still wasn't sure he was sane.

When he finished one or two, he returned to the room. Quickly shoving items into boxes, quick enough to barley get a glimpse of them, but gently enough for items not to break.

Finally, the bed was taken apart, it's headboards in the closet; the dresser was hauled to the shed and all items were in the attic, all labeled: PONYBOY.

Now, came the last part: Paint the walls.

Paint the walls the most ugliest, hideous, scariest color that haunted his dreams. The color that showed true emotion without shame. Paint four walls and the back of the door. Take the brush and just go crazy. Who else is going to see this?! No one! He'd lock the door, bust the hinges. He'd also lock the window and put dark curtains over them so no one could see inside either!

These walls have witnessed a little boy growing up, they saw him in the morning when he woke up, they were there when he had nightmares. The walls had memories and Soda was to make sure they had no more!

His breathing was heavy when he saw the ugly job of painting he did.

"What the hell happened in here?"

Darry's home early.

"It looks like a three-year-old did this job, Soda!"

Soda felt his upper lip twitch as Darry came closer.

"And what the hell color is this? It's black, not Forrest Green, how the hell did you mess up your colors?"

Soda could hear pages of books turning from indies the boxes in the attic and his eyes widened as he slowly gazed upon himself in the mirror, gripping the paint brush.

"I swear, did you have Two-Bit help? This isn't a fun job, Soda. It's actual work-"

Soda's teeth chattered, not from the cold, wait. . . yes. . . .from the cold. .. The December ice that took his parents over the cliff on the train tracks, Ponyboy must have been so scared. Who did he scream for? Did he cry for him? He must have been in so much pain. . .

"I was. . .partying." Soda hushed just above a whisper. He had let Steve talk him into going to a party while Ponyboy went with their parents. He was having fun while his little brother died.

Darry groaned, "Soda! Are you listening to me?!"

Something sharp jabbed into Soda's back and he started to shake. Darry rolled his eyes, reaching for the paint brush. "If you're not going to do it correctly then give me the brush!" The second Darry laid his hands on Soda's brush, Soda let out a petrifying scream, tossing the black paint can near the others by the west wall, creating a luge mess as paint splatters went everywhere. Leaking on the floor, on the walls.

Soda's breathing became uneven as Darry watched in horror as to what Soda had just done.

Soda couldn't keep it in any longer as he let out a loud sob, ignoring his dirt hands as he whipped away tears that creased his cheeks. Darry bit his bottom lip.

"S-Soda." He softly spoke, watching the blonde fall to the floor in tears. Darry sat down, pulling Soda close to him as the Greaser bawled. Darry looked over at the mess, not knowing what to do with it, he left it, tending to his little brother.

"It'll be okay, baby." Darry reassured his sobbing little brother. "We'll get through this."

The paint was black as night, as dark as a nightmare, as potent at the reminder of their loss of their innocent, sweet Ponyboy.

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**Tell me what you think, please :) **

**CHECK OUT: Shattered. My new Fan-fic! **

**-Kylelover101 **


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